


More Than Anything

by leekycauldron



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slight mentions of sex, teeny mention of alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leekycauldron/pseuds/leekycauldron
Summary: Just a handful of ways in which James Potter loves Lily Potter unconditionally and more than anything.





	

He loves her when it’s five in the morning and he has to be out of the house for six thirty. When he unwraps his arms from her tender waist and slides from under the duvet; the cold air feels like a slap against his whole body because nothing is warmer than her skin against his even when it’s the middle of winter and they’ve been outside for hours. He loves her when she burrows further under the blankets, waking up just briefly to murmur some undecipherable words of protest before she’s asleep again and all he can see is the fiery red of her hair peering out over the duvet, so prominent against the all-white bedsheets. And when he’s showered and he’s dressed, he leans over her sleeping form, the sound of her deep breaths the only thing in the room. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, the smell of her hair freshly washed is everywhere and he mutters an ‘I love you’. There’s no response, she’s deep asleep but he tells her to have a good day anyway because he loves her more than anything.

  
He loves her when they’re awake in the early hours of the morning, when it feels like they’re the only ones awake in the world. Some nights they have a mug of hot chocolate each though sometimes it’s one or two or five glasses of firewhiskey when they feel particularly carefree. And they talk for hours, talk as though they don’t spend every day and night together, as though they don’t already know everything about the other. She laughs at the stories she’s heard a thousand times over and sometimes he has to pretend to listen to what she’s saying because her laugh is the only thing on his mind and he can’t hear anything else. Other nights she curls up with a book, her lips mouth along with the words occasionally as she reads them and he wants to kiss her more than anything but then he’d break her concentration; her beautiful, magnificent concentration. So instead he just watches her, mesmerised at the fact that he loves her more than anything.

  
He loves her when he’s not with her. Except he’s never _really_ not with her because she’s always on his mind and some might call it obsessive but he thinks those are the people who haven’t felt this; haven’t felt pure and true devotion. The majority of the stories that leave his mouth involve her name in some place or another, his mates laugh along and he can almost hear her laughing with them because she’s usually there. Just sometimes she’s not and those are the nights he’s home before eleven because she always waits up and people say he’s wrapped around her finger. He doesn’t deny it and no one expects him to because they know he’d do anything for her, they know that he loves her more than anything.

  
He loves her when her fingers are tangled in his hair, her minted breath on his face as their foreheads press against each other and he stares into her eyes as green as emeralds. When his lips are on her jaw and her neck and her breasts and his head is between her thighs; her grip on his hair gets all the more tighter and his name echoes breathlessly around the room. And they’ve done this more times than he can count but it never stops being so passionate, so…them. That’s what it is. It’s them, it’s something no one else can ever experience because only they share the moans and professions of love and skin that’s just that little bit too damp with perspiration to grip firmly. When he drops down onto the bed beside her, he kisses every freckle on her shoulder and she hums in satisfaction. ‘I love you’ he tells her quietly over the sound of their uneven breath, ‘more than anything.’

  
He loves her when he returns home late, it’s seven o’clock and he was supposed to be back at six and she complains that she had his dinner ready and that she had to eat alone. He tells her that she’s never really alone anymore as he rubs the almost-but-not-quite obvious bump on her stomach and she softens immediately because there’s a life inside of her and it’s a life created by them and in a world surrounded by charms and potions, they don’t think there’s anything more magical. His dinner is warmed up with a wave of his wand and she stands behind him, rubbing his shoulders as he eats because she knows when he’s had a stressful day and that was definitely today. What she doesn’t know is that as soon as he entered the house, just the scent of her relaxed him and the sight of her was more comforting than sitting in a bubble bath for hours on end. He tells her about his day and she tells him hers. Her’s was mundane, boring in her words but he wishes he could have been there to spend every boring second with her because he loves her more than anything.

  
He loves her when he’s angry at her and when she’s furious with him. When one of them had been having a particular irritable day and one wrong word just tipped them over the edge. And they’re shouting and sometimes she cries; he wants to hug her in these moments but sometimes he too angry and even when they’re sorted things out, he’ll lay awake that night and think about how stupid he was to not just hold her. The arguments never last long and they’re few and far between but sometimes she messes up her hair from running her fingers through the strands too much and he thinks she could resemble a lion in those times. Her red hair a main around her face, her fierce expression that is a mixture of scary but oh-so-adorable in a way that shows her bark is much worse than her bite. The yelling ends with muttered apologies and they each spend the next few days making it up to the other even though she assured him they were okay just hours after it stopped. He knows they’re okay but he takes this as an excuse to spoil her more than usual, an excuse to show that he loves her more than anything.

  
He loves her when she’s squeezing his hand too tight and the room is a bright white, beeping all around and Healers rushing back and forth. She’s tired of telling him that they don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet but he knows he’s getting a son; he’s never been more certain of anything. He talks her through the pain; small stories of how they’re going to raise their little miracle and how he’s going to teach him quidditch and she’ll help him with his homework, visits from his godfather will be the highlight of the week and they’re going to be happy. Happier than she can even comprehend. She smiles, tears in her eyes until it’s time for the baby to come and he’s never been more terrified in his life. He’s terrified, he’s not ready to be a father and his throat is closing up, he’s certain he’s going to suffocate until it’s over and there’s a small bundle of blankets in his wife’s arms. It’s a boy. And as he stares down at his son, he doesn’t think he’s got enough room in heart to love something this much, to love two things this much. He loves them both, his gorgeous wife and his beautiful son more than anything.


End file.
